


Goodbye Wasn't Planned

by GreenRogue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cure for the Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Episode: s10e23 My Brother's Keeper, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Non-Canonical Character Death, Oblivious Dean Winchester, Post-Season/Series 10 AU, Sam Winchester Whump, Temporary Character Death, The Empty (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25698883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenRogue/pseuds/GreenRogue
Summary: “Dean—” Cas stresses a note of impatience, “Where is Sam?” Dean laughs for a minute before shaking his head."Who?"~~Sammy, close your eyes~~AU, the ending of season 10 no one wanted to have happen but we all secretly thought about.
Comments: 20
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ya'll-- this became a thing I intended it to be a one shot in my Angst series, little whump, little time skipping, badda bing badda boom one shot-- no, the boys just won't let me do that! So, a new multi chap fic. I will attempt to update every Monday but you may get luck and get more per week depending on work. I hope you enjoy, as always comments and kudos are life blood for all :)
> 
> Not to forget: I do not own SPN or the characters, I just like to hurt them.

* * *

_Sammy—close your eyes—_

There was a billow of dust at Dean’s feet and for a moment he felt utter content as his hands flexed around the cold object he was clinging to. The sound of soft footsteps pulled him from his reverie and he slowly turned to look towards Death, the mans skeleton-like hands reaching forward as he smiled softly with a head tilt in Dean’s direction.

“Well done my boy.” His eyes grazed down to Dean’s forearm and he felt the magnetic pull to look on his own. The Mark, once red and irritated, was now pale and smooth. The raised edges receded down to look more like a several year old scar rather than a stain of evil.

“Huh”. Dean said quietly, his fingers gently grazing over the skin, barely a tingle shivered up his arm and he looked back at Death with a quizzical gaze. The supernatural being stared at him quietly, the unnerving gaze never wavering from Dean’s eyes.

“Lock and Key Dean, it was a Lock and Key. Now, the key has been turned and the lock has been sealed.” Dean rubbed at the skin absently for another second before twitching his shoulders uncomfortably. He couldn’t help but feel like something was missing, something important.

“What exactly does that mean?” Death merely smiled and placed a hand lightly on Dean’s shoulder before turning away.

“Thank you for the food Dean, I’ll be sure to stop by again—but not too soon I hope.” With barely any fanfare he was gone. A cold shiver ran up Dean’s spine as he realized he was alone in the abandoned restaurant. He stood for another minute before scratching the back of his head in confusion. Overhead he hears the sound of thunder growing and groaned in annoyance, he really hated driving in rain. Grabbing his phone he quickly dials Cas as he strolls through a random pile of dust on the floor and heads out into the fading sunlight. Cas’s raspy voice sounds strained as he answers the phone.

“Dean? DEAN! Where are you?”

“Easy Cas I’m fine, look I talked to Death—we fixed it—the Mark or whatever, it’s been neutralized.”

“What does that mean? Dean, where are you?” Dean pats baby’s hood affectionately before sliding behind the wheel.

“Some restaurant out of town, look I’m headed back now—I think we need to celebrate tonight!” In the background Dean thinks he can hear Rowena’s voice increasing in volume before being shut down quickly. There is silence on the other line and Dean raises an eyebrow in confusion. “Cas? Everything okay?” There are a few words mumbled before he can hear clearly again.

“Yes Dean everything is fine, when will you and Sam be back?” There’s a slight twinge in the back of Dean’s mind and he has to blink a few times before shrugging it off.

“I’ll be back in an hour or so, I’ll get beer and pizza—a real night in!” There’s silence again as Baby’s engine roars to life and he peels out of the parking lot, Led Zepplin turned down low.

“Dean—” Cas stresses a note of impatience, “Where is Sam?” There’s another tingle in the back of his mind and it takes an extra minute before he laughs into the phone and shakes his head.

“Who?”

* * *

Cas has been staring at his phone in slight horror ever since speaking with Dean. Both Rowena and Crowley were watching him, eyes trained on the strained way he was gripping the piece of plastic, listening to the way it creaked in his grip.

“Feathers? Care to share with the class why you stopped the spell?” Crowley was feeling impatient-- impatient and out of the loop, never a place he enjoyed being. Rowena scoffed at him while shaking her head.

“Och, give the man a minute, clearly he’s upset.” Crowley merely rolled his eyes at her and continued to watch the angel. It was like his brain had short circuited and slowly he was coming back online, waves of grief and aggression were rolling around in the room like a growing tidal wave it was only a matter of time before it broke over. Quickly Cas straightened his spine and pocketed his phone before releasing both Rowena and Crowley from their captivity.

“Leave, now. Before I change my mind.” Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Crowley was about to snap away when Rowena spoke up.

“But what about the spell? We still have the components; we can still make this work.” Cas strode forward and with a single swipe, knocked the bowl off the table, scattering their precious ingredients across the grimy dungeon floor. Rowena took a step back in a panic, lifting her dress to avoid the splatter of blood. “You crazy idiot! That was our only shot!” Her eyes blazed in fury, but Crowley silently mused they were nothing compared to the cold wave of anguish rolling off of the angel.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. The Mark is gone. It’s done, without your black book of spells. Leave, now.” Rowena scurried under Cas’s scrutiny and gathered her remaining ingredients and bag before bustling out the door with barely a glance back. Crowley still stood to the side, watching Cas’s profile as the Angel seemed to be searching for something in the air around him. Slowly Crowley eased his hands into his pockets before tilting his head to the side.

“What did the big moose do Feathers? Is Dean dead? Did they transfer the mark to some other poor fool to suffer under it’s poisonous influence?” Castiel didn’t speak for a long moment before he turned to gaze into Crowley’s eyes.

“I don’t know what happened—but I aim to find out.” He waited another beat before swallowing heavily, “Sam’s gone.” Cas turned quickly and escaped through the open door, leaving the shocked King of Hell behind.

“Well I’ll be damned—"

* * *

The drive back to the bunker was tense as Cas tried to come up with a plausible scenario for Dean’s sudden cure, and lack of Sam’s presence. It was something more than just a brother ignoring another’s existence from stubborn anger. Dean had sounded genuinely confused at the mention of Sam’s name.

Cas gripped the stirring wheel tighter as he pressed down on the gas again, engine roaring in the dusky breeze as he careened down the backroad towards the bunkers garage. He could only pray to his absent father that he made it back before Dean did. When the dark silhouette of the garage came into view, he breathed a quick sigh of relief noting the Impala had not made it back yet.

Cas flung the door open to the bunker, car barely settled when he catapulted through the garage. His steps rang heavy against the metal stairs and the pounding echo matched the frantic beat of his heart.

“Death!” He shouted frantically. “Death please—” Cas rounded the last corner sharply, the warm glow of the library lights easing his way through their home. “Death I know you can hear me!” Cas spun in place, he could feel his heart slowly climbing out of his chest through his throat. Perhaps he needed to do the summoning ritual—

“It’s not polite to shout Castiel.” He froze. There, in the far corner with his legs casually crossed and a glass of scotch sat Death. His face half cast in shadow as he slowly sipped the drink. If Cas didn’t know any better, he’d have thought the ancient being was hiding a smile behind the rim of that glass.

“Where is Sam Winchester.”

“Straight to the point, direct as always young Castiel.” Death tilted his head in acknowledgement and continued to nurse the drink in his hand. Cas was well aware the man had refused to provide an answer, but that he had little sway to force it from him.

“Please—where is Sam?” He would fall to his knees if the being required him to do so. Cas’s mind was still hiding from the possibility—

“Gone, Castiel, as he should have been many times over.” Death pined him with a knowing stare and stood slowly from the armchair he had been occupying. “The curse of the Mark has reached completion and as such, is no longer a taint on this world.” Cas’s sight went fuzzy for a moment and he felt himself stumble heavily until he was leaning against one of the wooden pillars.

“When—when you say the Mark has reached completion—does that mean—“.

“Dean Winchester took my scythe which I handed over freely and completed what your Father had started. Sam Winchester, is dead.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dean—” Cas stresses a note of impatience, “Where is Sam?” Dean laughs for a minute before shaking his head.  
> "Who?"
> 
> ~~Sammy, close your eyes~~
> 
> AU, the ending of season 10 no one wanted to have happen but we all secretly thought about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I made my own deadline and stuck with it! Woot for me :) Here you all go, another lovely chapter.
> 
> As always I do not own SPN or the characters, I just like to lay with them.

* * *

Eons ago—longer than Castiel has ever been able to articulate—he was created. Born from the light of stars and the essence of his father, he was blinked into existence along with his brother’s and sister’s. Together they prospered, lived, loved. Flocks of Angels were a common sight among the stars and their laughter and glowing lights would warm Castiel’s own grace with fondness.

Then, God had created Earth. And, oh how it was loved. The blue marble a masterpiece in their Father’s creation. The multitude of colors and sights, the smells of the earth and the wind and the rain. Castiel had spent centuries roaming his Father’s good work, a contented peace resting within his chest.

But then there was man—and the peace had shattered.

Castiel was a good solider, a fierce fighter and loyal angel to his Father’s word. He fought side by side with his brethren to remove the usurper Lucifer and his followers. He tended with them the growing populace of Man until one day they were recalled by Michael. Back behind Heaven’s gates with no more direction other than “wait”. So, he did—Castiel waited, and watched. He watched as the human’s evolved and grew. Watched as souls flowed to and from the blue marble to the white halls of Heaven, or the dark recesses of Hell.

He grew curious—he grew dangerous—it wasn’t until one non-descript day, that he changed the course of his own life and the future of his brethren. One not so special day when he was ordered to raise the Righteous Man from the fiery void of Hell itself. When his hand left its mark on Dean Winchester, his very existence changed.

His bond with his brethren, once unshakeable in his faith, was now fractured and gone. In its place was a forging of family made by hellfire and heaven’s wrath. A bond stronger in its simplicity between Castiel and the Winchesters. Over time it was tested, strained, but each time it was reformed stronger than the last. But now—now—

“What do you mean Sam Winchester is dead?” Death stares at Castiel patiently as the young angel comes to grips with this new reality, he has non to gently informed him of. The being has the patience to last more than a millennia but having the droll response of repeating himself gets rather tiresome.

“There is no other meaning to the phrase other that what is stated Castiel. It is as I said. Sam Winchester is dead. I am only here as a courtesy to inform you of your loss and to not do anything rash.” Cas slowly slides down the pillar he was leaning against until he’s sat on the cold floor. His eyes downcast, staring unseeing between his shoes. For all of Castiel’s years—the sudden finality of losing a Winchester—

“Why? How?” Death sits patiently as Cas struggles back to his feet. He slowly sips the drink before him, eyes ever watching of the scene in front of him as well as beyond the veil.

“Dean came to me asking for a solution to the Mark he so regrettably received. I provided him with one that would cause the least amount of damage to the world and the current fabric of time as we know it. I know what you and Sam planned in that crypt. What little spell you had your witch casting. I tell you now Castiel, if she had been able to go through with it, a far worse evil would have been unleashed.”

Cas is leaning forward against the closest table now, his head hung in silent defeat.

“That still doesn’t answer the question—”

“And I’m afraid you may never know. Just know this. The Mark is resolved, your charge is safe from its clutches—but—he will not remember Sam Winchester.” Death stood slowly, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket as he watches the young angel come to grips with this new reality.

“I suggest you leave it be Castiel, try not to break this wall as you did the last”. Cas raises his eyes for a moment to stare at the being. His grace humming in anguish just under his skin. Death smiles at him with a slight fondness before tilting his head in farewell.

It’s quiet in Death’s absence— and Cas struggles to stand straight as the sound of Dean’s footprints echo down the stairwell.

“Cas? Ya here? Oh there you are, look beer and pizza aannddd—” Dean does a small dance before pulling out a dvd case with a flourish. “Hell Hazers III, It Lives—dude c’mon this’ll be awesome.” Cas watches as Dean excitedly grabs the food and beers before quickly making his way towards the TV room. It’s hard not to smile at Dean’s enthusiasm but Cas catches Sam’s laptop out of the corner of his eye and the smile falls flat.

Sam’s laptop—his coffee mug—his _room_ —all of these things will be reminders of the brother he’s lost but can never grieve because of the wall Death has put into place.

The sounds of the horror film echo back towards him in the library and he can hear Dean shouting at him.

“C’mon Cas! Your missing it!” Grabbing the laptop as he goes, Cas stows it away on a high shelf behind a few dusty books. He stares for a moment at his hidden secret, a heavy weight resting against his heart.

“I promise Sam—I won’t forget you. I’ll find you—and bring you home, I swear.”

* * *

“The bill to my drycleaners is going to skyrocket at this rate gentlemen—please tell me you have news so I don’t have to kill you all.” Crowley sat leisurely on his thrown in the middle of Hell. His eyes lazily revolved around the room as he surveyed the gathered crossroads demons he’s called an audience with. Each were fidgeting from nervousness, debating who would be first thrown to the chopping block.

Sipping his scotch to hid his smile, Crowley waited them out. The heavy atmosphere pressing deep into his rotten bones, the sounds of screaming a faint background ambience to match his mood of malcontent. Finally, a rat faced looking boy inched forward, clearing his throat quietly.

“My King—I’ve had my own network searching the racks and the halls. We’ve even gone closer to the cage—he’s not here.” Crowley hummed noncommittedly, taking another sip from his glass before raising is hand slowly, fingers poised to snap. He watched as the demon in front of him paled and stammered quickly,

“Bu-bu-but we’re still searching my lord. He-he can’t hide forever. Pl-please Sire, we just need a bit more time.” Crowley wobbled his head back and forth, as if considering the demon’s words, before a resounding snap followed by the burst of the demon’s vessel startled the others in attendance. Crowley looked down in annoyance at the few splatters of blood on his jacket before letting his eyes turn red as he surveyed the rest of the room.

“Perhaps, I did not make myself clear. Sam Winchester is dead, he must be found before his squirrel of a brother does something stupid. This is our one and only shot at keeping the Winchester’s separated for good. Now—I’m a patient King—a benevolent King—but your incompetence is trying.my.PATIENCE!” Crowley roared into the dead silent room; his glass tossed at the bloody remains on the floor so the sound of glass shattering scurried the frozen demons into action. He watched them scurry as he reeled in his anger.

“Do find the plaid moose and bring him here—immediately!” Sitting once again as his throne room emptied, he sighed in disappointment at the mess on the floor in front of him. “I do need to remember to watch my temper, but these things do happen—now I need a new drink”.

* * *

Hannah taps her foot impatiently as she watches the reports flood in on her desk. Briefly she glances over at the empty throne—the chair of God—before shaking her head and grabbing the papers with one hand and storming out and into the hall. A few of the remaining angels scatter from her path as she strides forward without hesitation. She can hear the mild whispers of gossip but tries to tune them out as she weaves closer to the personal quarters of Naomi. She hesitates before knocking, papers clenched tightly in her fist. Chewing on her lower lip and steeling her resolve, Hannah knocks loudly before entering the room.

It was always a shock seeing Naomi the way she was now. Her once brunette hair a shocking white. Eyes once calculating and measured, now slightly distant and vague.

“Naomi? I’ve received some—disturbing news—” Hannah waits as Naomi turns to face her, eyes slowly focusing on the younger angel. She nods her head in acknowledgement, asking Hannah to continue. She looks down at the papers in her hands before thrusting them forward. “It’s the Winchesters—Sam to be exact. It seems he’s—well—” Naomi gently pulls the papers from Hannah’s tight grasp and looks down at the reports coming in from their field garrison.

“He’s passed on hasn’t he—and is the other one aware?” Hannah shakes her head, a funny uneasy feeling resting in the center of her grace.

“To all who’ve seen him, no—it does not seem he is as of yet aware, but—” Hannah hesitates for a moment, uncertainty flashing in her eyes, a horrid human trait she wishes she had never encountered. Things were so much easier before. Naomi gently encourages her to continue. “There were reports that Sam and Dean were last seen together—then Dean was alone. I think there is something else at play here. The demons are more active, apparently searching for him and he hasn’t—well—his Heaven is still empty—” Naomi hums to herself for a moment, eyes flicking over the details in the reports in her hands before looking back up at Hannah.

“It seems we have a missing Winchester, and another who either is not aware of his death—or does not care as he used to.” Naomi handed back the papers, eyes remaining locked with Hannah’s as she spoke. “Find him”.

* * *

Dean collapsed onto his bed exhausted. He couldn’t really recall most of the day, not even if he really tried. Which some part of him was shying away from his memories, like a child nervously dancing around a barking dog. Wiggling deeper into the comfort of his memory foam mattress and cool pillow, he closed his eyes with a slight smile on his face, the mark was finally silent. After months of the low-key hum of anger and murder playing in the back of his mind—he was finally at peace.

Barely glancing up, he fumbled with the lamp at the side of his bed until his room was doused in darkness. Somewhere deeper in the bunker, Dean could still hear the faint noises of the television playing some sort of documentary. He had left Cas not long ago, exhaustion finally pulling at his muscles. He had clapped the Angel on the shoulder with a goodnight and had chuckled good naturedly at Cas’s jump of fright at the sudden contact.

“Don’t stay up too late Cas, got plans tomorrow involving a long drive and a beach.” He didn’t wait for the response as he meandered towards his room, passing another door that was slightly ajar. Though now that he thought about it—Dean sat up for a moment, a tickling memory just out of reach causing him pause. That door—

Before he knew it, Dean was walking back out of his room and down the hall. The same door still stood innocently, barely cracked open. There was no reason to wonder by it, it was a door—one of many that led to probably an empty room long abandoned by the previous Men of Letters—and yet—

His fingertips barely brushed the wood as he eased it open. The light from the hall spilling around him, casting odd shadows in the darkness. There was a single bed in the middle of the room, blankets bunched and pillows askew. On the desk there was a coffee mug, half full of coffee and Dean wrinkled his noise thinking how long that had been sitting there. His eyes danced over the scattered papers and books on the desk and on the ledge over the bed, curiosity starting to grow. Picking up a sheet of notepaper, he stared at the scrawled blocky letters on the page,

****_Need to remind Dean to pick up more silver for ammo._  
Research lasting effects of aftercare from the Mark (possibly additional details retained from Lucifer)  
Call Cas to— 

The words died off and Dean felt a strange sort of heat growing behind his eyes. He blinked rapidly, dropping the paper and raised his hand to his face only to be surprised at the wetness he felt.

‘ _What the hell?’_

A strong aversion overtook him and suddenly he could barely stand to remain in this room another minute. Striding through the door he grabbed the handle violently and let it slam shut behind him, effectively blocking out the darkness and the strange emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He stood for a moment, chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath.

_‘Charlie—that’s Charlie’s room—that’s all—‘._ Suddenly feeling both relieved and further saddened by his logical conclusion he turned back to his own room, all thoughts pushed to the back of his mind as he focused on his bed and sleep.

It wasn’t until he was nestled under the covers, mind already drifting in the pleasant half aware state before fully submersing himself into dreams that he unconsciously called for a young face of a tall man, brown hair loose around his frame as hazel eyes twinkled with a smile at him.

_‘Sammy—'_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dean—” Cas stresses a note of impatience, “Where is Sam?” Dean laughs for a minute before shaking his head.  
> "Who?"
> 
> ~~Sammy, close your eyes~~
> 
> AU, the ending of season 10 no one wanted to have happen but we all secretly thought about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll I'm so sorry, I haven't forgotten about you or this story. Things have gotten a little crazy and I don't know when the next update will be, BUT, I wanted to give you this little bit that I do have. I intended for a good long chapter for dear Sam but we're breaking it up into two. Here's a little tidbit from the chapter I'm working on. I have time this week due to my anniversary so I promise I will have more for you soon!
> 
> As always I do not own SPN or the characters, i just like to play with them

* * *

It’s dark. Jesus Christ is it dark. And so, so _quiet_ —Sam tries to sigh loudly, to hum or moan. Anything to break up the silence but his voice remains locked in his throat. The subconscious itch to hear something tickles the back of his mind.

He’s laying down—or floating—really, he’s not sure as his eyes scan the oppressive darkness around him. His skin feels almost clammy but warm as he slowly tightens and loosens his muscles, just to feel something other than this—this emptiness.

He’s walking now—or maybe floating—god but this is so confusing. He knows he’s moving though; he can feel his feet slap against a floor, his arms sway from side to side. He can feel his breath expand in his chest but still there is no sound. No whisper tell-tale of his clothes as he walks, no echo of shoes against cement, or linoleum. Every possible natural sound he could make is swallowed in the blackness around him. Sam almost wants to panic; he knows this isn’t someplace he should be. His presence in this never-ending darkness feels wrong somehow but he can’t seem to muster up the energy to care. He doesn’t know how he got here, doesn’t know where here is, all he knows is the darkness.

Minutes, hours, day—miles or feet—time passes but remains the same as Sam walks. His mind is oddly blank as he travels. Thoughts easing to the forefront, just to disappear as quietly as they came. Occasionally he thinks he see’s someone ahead, or behind—someone walking away, and he has a brief instinct to run towards them, to call out and hope to get their attention. But as quickly as the urge comes, it’s shoved back down under the odd calming sense that has pervaded his mind. He feels almost peaceful in his journey but lonely as well. Someone used to walk beside him, someone important—

“You’re a odd little thing aren’t you—you don’t belong here.” The voice comes from behind. Sam startles badly and feels his knees impact hard ground as he tries to turn and address the speaker. The sudden echo of a voice is ringing in his ears and he winces in pain as he glances towards the newcomer—or rather himself—

“I-I don’t—wha—” The Sam standing in front of him shushes him softly as he crouches down to be at eye level. He’s younger, Sam would almost guess around twenty by the cut of his hair and roundness of his face. There’s an innocence to that face that Sam had lost ages and ages ago—before the demon blood, the cage, leviathans—the Mark—

A spark of a memory leaves Sam gasping and he looks around wildly before focusing again on the not-Sam in front of him.

“Where is Dean? Where’s my brother?” His own voice grates on his nerves and he fights not to wince. The being in front of him tilts his head to the side in confusion, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

“Brother? There are two of you? You shouldn’t be here, you reeeaaallly shouldn’t be awake—I hate it when things make noise. But—” The not-Sam taps his fingers against his chin before frowning, “I can’t put you to sleep, you don’t belong here—what or who put you here—“ Sam shakes his head in confusion, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

“I don’t—I’m sorry, I don’t know where I am, o—or how I got here—” He looks around at the inky blackness surrounding them, what once felt peaceful almost starts to feel foreboding and he shivers slightly before addressing the being in front of him again. The not-Sam is starting to look angry, a malevolence glints in his eyes as he looks Sam up and down.

“Well—I can’t just have you wandering here forever, for a single being your awfully noisy. I’ll just have to see if I can put you to sleep myself—” Sam wants to stand, he wants to slouch back and escape but fear has him frozen as the not-Sam reaches forward and places a palm to his head. “I should warn you, if you scream it will only make things worse.” Sam barely has time to acknowledge the touch before an odd electric current starts from the contact and shocks through his system. He grits his teeth, eyes water—but it’s not long before his screams echo out into the darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dean—” Cas stresses a note of impatience, “Where is Sam?” Dean laughs for a minute before shaking his head.  
> "Who?"
> 
> ~~Sammy, close your eyes~~
> 
> AU, the ending of season 10 no one wanted to have happen but we all secretly thought about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hi-- all I can say is, my bad? Things have been rough, real rough and it's not quite better yet but I didn't want to leave everyone hanging. I'm not going to promise a time on the next update but I will try my hardest to get it out faster than this last one. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> To the commenters, I always appreciate your input and I try to reply to each of you when I can, unfortunately I just haven't had the gumption to do it lately. You're review and questions are appreciated and I promise all will be revealed soon!
> 
> As always I do not own SPN or the characters, I just like to play with them.

* * *

It was the sound of something dripping next to his ear that roused Sam from the blessed unconsciousness he was struggling to maintain. Clenching his eyes tightly, he fought the groan that threatened to escape past his raw throat and he turned his head slightly away from the offending noise.

“Samuel, glad to see your host hasn’t completely broken you. Apologies for being late to our appointment.” The cool words sent a shiver down Sam’s spine and he squinted carefully towards the voice, confusion and fear causing a tremor to run through his limbs. Death patiently stood some feet away, his hands resting lightly on the tall cane in front of him. The silver handle glinted against nonexistent light and flashed in his sight for a moment blinding him. His body _hurt_ , a steady thrum of pain beat through his muscles and a staccato rhythm of his pulse behind his eyes made him grimace.

Slowly, awkwardly, Sam rolled to his front and pushed himself onto his hands and knees. The dark floor, space, whatever below him seemed to shimmer from the pressure from his hands and he blinked a few times to focus his gaze on his fingers. A few droplets of blood splatter below him and he huffed silently _‘figures’_. He licked his chapped lips before gazing back up at the Supernatural being and squinted through the pain.

“Appointment? Wh-where am I?” His voice was hoarse, throat burning in pain and he had a vague memory of screaming for hours before succumbing to sweet nothingness. Death tapped his cane against the viscous darkness underneath him and in a blink, Sam found himself in a dim cabin room. A low fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace, its warm glow spreading heat throughout the room. The aching Sam felt in his body was also gone and he blinked a few times before glancing around his surroundings. The two stuffed chairs on either side of the fireplace looked cozy, comforting.

“He-here? What, why are we here? I don’t understand”. Sam stumbled slightly as he gathered his feet under him and stood, trying to ignore the stabbing protests of his muscles. Death nodded towards the two chairs pointedly before gracefully turning from the Winchester to lean his cane against an aged dining table.

“Please sit Samuel, your strength will return to you slowly but until then it’d be most unpleasant for you to pass out again before we can talk.” Sam could feel the shadows inching across his vision and regretfully complied with the being, slowly inching his way to the closest chair and easing his sore body into the overstuffed comfort. The Being watched him stoically before joining, his eyes piercing through Sam’s gaze with a piercing gaze. Sam shifted a moment, uncomfortable under Death’s scrutiny before looking around the room again.

“I’m dead—aren’t I—” A question formed like a statement, Death gave Sam a brief smile before nodding his head slowly.

“Yes Samuel, though I imagine the circumstances of your death are rather traumatizing and as such, may not recall the method in which you perished.” Their was an ache in his gut, an empty hole that he could only vaguely remember feeling before. A sort of vacuum of his self where once a bright and strong connection used to reside. He’d come close to feeling it before, long before Angels or Cages—when the only thing that had mattered to him had left.

“Dean”. Death again gave a slight head tilt and smiled briefly.

“As astute as always Samuel, I should have recalled your ‘prophecy defying bond’ with your brother. Yes, it was by Dean’s hand you met your end.” The hole in Sam grew just a bit colder, he felt like it was expanding in his chest threatening to consume him entirely as flashes of their last meeting blinded him for a moment and he closed his eyes with a sudden weariness.

“S—so he’s, he’s somewhere out in the galaxy alone then? He complied with your deal and now he’s gone—“. Sam could feel the tears threatening to gather, the cold vacuum climbing up his throat and squeezing the life from his body. Dean was gone, succumbed to the Mark and alone God knows where.

“Not quite—there were other factors in play Samuel that I think you failed to comprehend. A drastic action needed to be put into place. Understand it brought me no joy in facilitating your demise.” They sat in the quiet for a few moments, Sam’s mind whirling a million miles a minute as he took in Death’s calm demeanor and remembered the last time they were face to face.

“May I ask you something?” Death is silent as Sam looks at him curiously, taking his lack of response as approval Sam swallows heavily and scoffs, “Last time we were here, when we met—you said it was an honor to—to be the one to collect me. Why?” The coldness has spread through his body now, his limbs settling like weights against the cushions, his breath struggling to expand his constricting lungs but he ignores all this to stare pleadingly at the being in front of him.

“You Samuel Winchester, have not only defied the mechanisms of Heaven and Hell, but the Will of God himself. Your actions through your life were always dictated and scripted up to almost the point of no return. However, your strength of Soul—your very being, was stronger than any strings of Destiny. You my boy, were an anomaly of Nature herself, an unknown paradox.” Most of what Death said made Sam shameful and prideful in one fell swoop. He turns his gaze towards the crackling fire, its warmth no longer touching his frozen skin.

“The question now my boy, is what to do with you”. Sam’s gaze snaps back towards the being in confusion and Death gives him another soft smile, almost in a comforting manner. “Heaven and Hell both have equal claims to your soul. You were always intended for Heaven, your final sacrifice against Lucifer guaranteeing it—however the taint you succumbed to for the greater good also marked you for a descent into Hell. But your presence in either will cause an undo show of power that your Earth may not survive from. Hence, our current dilemma.

“Is that why I was in that place? What was that place, wh-who was it that was with me?” Death gazed into the fire a moment before waving his hand, a small table appeared between them with a decanter full of an amber liquid and two glasses. Death motioned towards the table and took a deep breath.

“A conversation involving the Empty and the entity that presides over it requires a drink. Please,” Death motions towards the decanter again as Sam sits forward, “your questions will be answered, you are owed that much. Then after—I will have to decide what to do with you.”

* * *

“Cas!” Dean is dodging another fist flying towards his face as he notices his friend taking a mean swing into his midsection. Lashing out with his machete, the vampires head rolls from it’s body as Dean uses the momentum of his swing to turn past another assailant and help his friend. He knows it’ll take a lot more than a few punches to take out a former angel of the lord, but Dean’s protective drive has been on overload for while now and he’d be damned if he lost another family member.

‘ _wait—’_

Dean barely hesitates as his mind skips a jump while he runs up along side his friend and pushed back one of the advancing vampires.

“Ya good?” He asks without looking, eyes peeled into the fading light of the musty warehouse. He can hear Cas coughing next to him as he regains his footing and tightens his grip on his weapon. Cas’s rough voice sounds tired and drained, his stature flags a little as they stand side by side.

“I’ll be fine, watch your back.” Dean gave him a grimace of a smile before taking off where their prey had run to. The thrill of the chase thrummed in his blood as the skirmish grew heated once again. The grunts and snarls from the monsters, the heavy breathing he could hear echoing in his own ears—Dean had a strong nostalgic feeling of Purgatory as he hunted down and ended the last of the nest they had scoped out a week ago.

As the last body dropped, Dean twirled his machete and scanned the room around them for any unchecked threats before easing his stance and relaxing his grip. Glancing down at the still body at his feet, the familiar sense of satisfaction for a job completed warmed his chest and he smiled as Cas came up next to him.

“Dean, you alright?” The angels gravelly baritone held a small hint of mothering that made Dean scoff lightly.”

“I’m fine man, it was just a few vamps, nothing can take down the famous Dean Winchester!” Dean pumped his fist in the air as he stepped over another body to grab the abandoned duffle bag. He turned in time to catch Cas’s eye roll of exasperation and Dean clucked his tongue in mock annoyance.

“Bitch.” Dean waited, anticipation on his face and Cas cocked his head in confusion.

“Why are you calling me names--?” Dean furrowed his brow in confusion and blinked.

“You’re supposed to say—” A blinking flash of pain pierces behind Dean’s eyes and he clenches them shut with a grimace. A brief image of a younger guy with longer brown hair and a dimpled smile skims over his mind but as quickly as it shows it’s gone. He’s laying on his back, Cas leaning over him, concern etched deeply on his face.

“Dean! Dean are you alright?” He shakes his head of the lingering pain and accepts the offered hand to help him stand again.

“Yeah, yeah I’m alright, one of the little fangers must have hit me harder than I thought. C’mon, let’s just finish this and get back to the motel.” He doesn’t look back to see Cas’s worried gaze, the pain already a fading memory. His brain feels hazey, like he’s stuck in motion and tries to come up with something to get past the confusing injury. “Let’s get this bonfire going, I hear bad cable television and beer calling my name, let’s go Sammy!” His footsteps falter a second before he stops dead. His eyes are trained on a body not far from where he’s standing but all he can see is a dimpled smile and hazel eyes.

‘ _Sammy, Sammy, Sam—SammySammySammySammy—‘._

_‘Sammy, close your eyes—‘._ Dean turns slowly to stare at Castiel, his vision turning hazy as he struggles to draw in air. Vaguely he can see Cas’s lips moving, his voice gurgled like he was hearing it underwater. He watched as Cas rushed towards him and felt his strong grip on his arms as they both crashed to the floor on their knees. He could feel a vice grip over his heart as the air around them grew thin and he gasped for breath.

‘ _Sammy close your eyes, Sammy close your eyes, Sam—‘._

“DEAN! Dean can you hear me? Dean stop, just breath. Dean listen!” Cas shook him violently as Dean snapped back to attention, the vice removed, his eyes dry. The air felt stale in his lungs.

“Cas—where’s Sam?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dean—” Cas stresses a note of impatience, “Where is Sam?” Dean laughs for a minute before shaking his head.  
> "Who?"
> 
> ~~Sammy, close your eyes~~
> 
> AU, the ending of season 10 no one wanted to have happen but we all secretly thought about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Hi there, so-- it's been a year. Bless those of you who have stuck around and welcome to those who just found this. I won't take up your time, I known your dying to know the ending. Here we go!
> 
> As always I do not own SPN or the characters, I just like to play with them.

* * *

Sam is rolling the crystal glass between his hands as he stares absently into the crackling fire. Death, literal Death, is sitting across from him silently. His own glass resting easily on the table, the dregs of brandy providing off colored shadows across the tabletop. For the past, however long, Sam has been sitting here—somewhere between layers of reality as Death called it, having an in-depth discussion of the beginning of time and what came before. Sam knows that if he were _actually_ alive at this point, he would probably be fighting off one massive migraine.

“So—this empty, it’s both the place, and the uh—the being I saw?” Death nods his head incrementally and Sam has to fight back the urge to break out into hysterics. “And—and I was there because, you don’t—know—where to put—me—” Death smiles slightly and Sam is pretty sure he shrugged, how very human of him.

“It’s not that I don’t know where to put you Samuel, it’s more like your presence is requested and required at both. Neither hold greater sway than the other. Although in previous instances the soul was claimed by the entity that finds it first, in your case—” Death stops for a moment giving Sam a significant look.

“In my case there would be too much damage between angels and demons. I’m really not—”

“Don’t be obtuse Samuel, of course you are. You’re a Winchester, even I have to concede the importance of your and your brother’s existence.” Sam nods slowly and feels a slight blush warm his cheeks from the reluctant compliment.” He takes another sip of his drink letting the spicy-sweet liquid tickle at his throat. They lapse into silence again letting the warmth of the fire soothe his frazzled nerves.

“What—what did happen to Dean? Please?” Death frowns slightly and Sam feels like he let the being down in some way. He pushes aside the slight twinge of shame and continues to stare forward, his eyes searching the other’s face. Finally, after a few minutes, Death lifts his own eyes and locks onto Sam.

“In the most simplistic way I can explain, the Mark was a key—a key that was half turned when Cain killed his brother Abel. It was a key to a door that was creaking open and slowly, but steadily, poisoning your world and the fabric of reality as we know it. However, as with any key there is a way to relock the door it is meant for. To satiate the bloodlust that was awoken with the first murderer.”

“You mean my death—Cain wasn’t kidding or having some weird demonic poetic irony when he said that Dean was going to have to kill me.” Death nods again before getting a strange faraway look in his eye.

“I’m afraid I must cut our appointment short Samuel, there appears to be a situation that requires my attention.”

“You never answered my question, what happened to my brother?” Sam can feel a nervous tingle just under the surface of his skin. So close to the answer that matters the most, and yet the only one who can answer it was annoyingly dodging him. Death stood and slowly smoothed away the invisible wrinkles of his suit. His eyes closed for a moment as he took a deep breath before nodding once again.

“I had arranged for your brother to continue his life, however long it may have been, unaware of your existence. My walls can be quite beneficial to most beings. Yet the Winchesters seem unable to hold onto their gifts—” A bit of the cold that had settled in his stomach thawed slightly as Sam eased back in his seat. A wall, Dean had forgotten about him. It hurt briefly thinking his brother would not remember his existence but the hurt quickly changed into relief. His brother wouldn’t mourn him—

“Wait you said—”

“Yes Samuel, I’m afraid the wall has been broken, again. Either by your angel brother or by Dean’s own merit. Either way, they are requesting my presence. I’m afraid I haven’t given enough thought to your predicament; however, I’ll need to return you back to the Empty for the time being.” Sam shivered and clenched his fists tightly while closing his eyes, even the memory of that black soulless place—“it won’t be for long, I promise you that—“.

Before he had a chance to respond, Sam felt the comforting heat from the crackling fire vanish. The soft cushion of his chair faded away and he was left with nothing. His nerves rising quickly, Sam subconsciously felt for the scar along his palm. His worry stone for the past several years. As his fingers felt along smooth skin, he held back a whimper of panic as he fought to keep his breath under control.

“There, there Sammy—don’t freak out on us now.” Sam turned in surprise, almost stumbling over his own feet as he blinked wide hazel eyes at a person, he thought he’d never see again.

“I know, I know—but I’ve been told it’s much more, disconcerting to be speaking with yourself. Is this better?” Electric yellow eyes that had haunted Sam’s nightmares for years stared at him with a flat expression, lips pulled into a tight wide smile showing too many teeth.

“You’re not him, you’re not—he’s dead--“ The Empty laughed quietly and shook his head.

“Nah—he’s asleep like a good little demon that he is. But it was either this or that Ruby girl, and I’m sure you much prefer someone less—that—” The empty shifted slightly on the balls of his feet and let his hands slowly descend into the pockets of his pants. He eyes Sam speculatively, his tongue poking into his left cheek in absent thought. “So I was told to try to leave you be, however you’re awake and all I really want to do is go back to sleep. Whaddya say Sammy? Ready for a little nap?” Sam shook his head as he fought the sudden urge to run, strangely he knew it would do no good in a place like this.

“Please, don’t. I promise I won’t make a sound.”

“Oh I’m sure”. The Empty said patronizingly, “I’ve heard that promise before, but you see, things like you just can’t help themselves. Now be a lamb and hold still”. Sam felt the movement around him a moment too late as tendrils of black ooze sprang from the ground at his feet and twisted around his body. They compressed quickly cutting off his ability to breath and despite his best-efforts Sam begin to panic.

“Stop it, just—please stop it I swear, I swear I won’t make another noise!” The YED look alike merely shook his head, smile too wide—too perfect.

“Sammy you’ve already made that promise and look! You’ve already broken it. Shut.Up.” The black limbs squeeze impossibly harder before extending over his neck and wrapping around his face. Their almost non texture glided over his skin smoothly and resting across his mouth and eyes effectively cutting him off from the absence around him. He struggled in their tight grip, sweat started soaking through his shirt as tremors ran up and down his body like a stampede of bugs under his skin. He felt a cool presence against his side, and he strained to lean away.

“Remember Sammy, this may hurt but screaming makes it worse”.

* * *

~~ _Elsewhere~~_

Castiel winced under Dean’s tight grip around his forearms and fought to keep his friend steady as they rose to their feet together.

“Castiel, where. Where is Sam—” Dean’s eyes were wide, his pupils tiny pin pricks just moments away from panicking again. His fingers dug painfully through the trench coat and Cas fought to keep from wincing against his grip.

“Dean I need you to breath. What do you remember?” Dean took a few deep breaths smelling the lingering dust and blood from the warehouse around them.

_‘Don’t tell me that’s queso—‘._ His brain hurt, almost like a steady crumble of bricks just behind his eyes in his temple.

“I—I went to summon Death, about the Mark—” Cas is staring at him intently, his eyes almost glowing in the pale sickly light around them.

_‘Brother, I’m done.’_

_‘No, no you’re not. Dean.’_

_‘Grab a pen. It’s time to say Goodbye.’_

Dean squeezes his eyes shut at the cascading film roll of memories as they assault his senses. He can feel Cas shake him slightly, hear a creeping edge of barely concealed panic in his voice but Dean ignores him. Trying desperately to find answers, even when he knows he won’t like them.

_‘You traded my life.’_

_‘I’m willing to live with this thing forever, as long as I know that I and it will never hurt another living thing.’_

Dean’s gasping now, his brain feels ten times too big for his head as it pounds against the onslaught. He quickly rips away from Cas’s grip and starts to pace the dusty floor, vampire corpses forgotten in the recesses of the growing panic in his very soul.

“I—I called him, made him come meet me at this stupid Mexican restaurant. Death—I wanted death to take away the threat, but—”. Another strong feeling of bricks descending against his retinas has him grunting in pain and Cas shouting his name.

_‘There is no other way Sam. I’m sorry’._

The feel of skin breaking under his knuckles as he watches the horrid flashes of Sam’s bloody face, his brother falling to the ground—pleading with him to stop—

_‘Close your eyes. Sammy, close your eyes’._

Dean couldn’t stop the scream if he tried. His throat closed tightly and the feeling of glass shattering in his heart reverberated through his entire being as the image of Death’s scythe glinted in his memory, the feeling of slight resistance as it cut down—

“I, I killed him. Cas—it was me—”. He looks up from where he’s fallen, the impact against his knees on the hard concrete a dull ache compared to the blinding proverbial knife twisting between his ribs. He can see the angel’s eyes are red rimmed and dull. An utter hopelessness descends on the two as Cas finally releases his grief and sags to his own knees in front of Dean. He let’s his hands fall limply into his lap, dried blood discoloring his nails and the cuffs of the white sleeves underneath the coat.

“I figured something like that occurred—Death came to see me—after—“ Cas falls silent as he watches the rising grief and pain on Dean’s face. The Winchester slowly raises his hand to rest lightly over the faded scar of the Mark, forcing the memories to play repeatedly, rubbing the salt against the now festering wound. He remembers how Sam looked as he walked through the boarded-up door. How haggard his face looked, the slight release of tension when he saw his brother safe and sound—the rising suspicion at Death and then the blatant flash of hurt and betrayal—

“I did this—Cas this is because of me. Because of me, Sammy—I, I killed him Cas. It just seemed like the right thing. Death was our only option. I didn’t even, it was like the Mark had taken control but I felt so calm—I can’t. Cas I have to fix this—” For the first time in weeks since Sam’s death, Castiel felt the first curls of anger in his gut towards his friend.

“How Dean? How do you propose you fix something Death himself has decreed to be the only way? We don’t even know where he is!” Cas stood quickly then, his heavy steps echoing around them as he paced angrily. “There is nothing we can do Dean except accept what was done and—and move on—” Dean can hear how painful it was for Castiel to utter those words, the forlorn loss in his voice echoing painfully against his own. Dean can’t function under this level of grief, can’t see past the darkness trying to invade in his thoughts. He rallies against it the only way he knows how. He meets his grief head on and beats it to submission with righteous anger.

“We fix it like we fix everything else Cas, by our damn selves. You gonna help me get our brother back? Or are you gonna stand in my way.” Dean is standing now, his back straight as steel as he pushes down the overwhelming agony until it’s nothing more than a ghost in the back of his mind. Cas watches him with a blank stare giving nothing away before he nods slowly and allows a ghost of a smile to cross his face. As quickly as it appears it’s gone again, and Cas is striding over to clap him soundly on the back. His warm hand a welcome presence against Dean’s clammy skin.

“I’m with you Dean—what do you need me to do?” Dean just nods curtly before reaching down to grab the forgotten machete and starts marching towards the doors and the Impala.

“We’re gonna need a few things, most of them I can get”. The air is cooler outside, a crescent moon hands low on the horizon barely offering any light to penetrate the clinging darkness. Baby stands out silently against the backdrop of worn-down warehouses and weed choked parking lots. He lifts the trunk quickly, searching through the hidden compartment until he finds the box with spell ingredients. Cas is a silent steward at his side, eyes cataloguing everything Dean is examining and discarding. His body tenses as he recognizes what is set to the side and he eyes Dean with apprehension.

“You sure this is the way you want to do this? The last time he said—”

“I don’t care what he said!” Dean snaps as he shuts the trunk and makes his way around to the driver’s seat. “I’m doing this, one way or another I’m going to see my brother again. I just need to grab a few things, but I need you to get a fulgurite, think you can manage?” For a brief moment Cas gives him a look that is so close to one of Sam’s bitch faces and Dean feel’s his knees lock up and eyes burn.

“You’re asking a former angel of the lord if he can find a living act of God, do I need to check you for head injuries before I go?” Dean rolls his eyes and gets into the car. Her engine roars to life and Dean wastes no time in steering her back towards the bunker. The music a steady and calming background noise as he glances towards the empty passenger seat. He ruthlessly squashes the tightness in his throat and squeezes the wheel tighter as he presses the gas a little harder.

“I’m coming Sammy—"

* * *

Ya'll I might be able to get the last chapter up tonight. I am running on like 3 hours of sleep and way too much caffeine but I plan on finishing this, this weekend. So unless I fall asleep at my computer you'll have the ending sometime later tonight or tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dean—” Cas stresses a note of impatience, “Where is Sam?” Dean laughs for a minute before shaking his head.  
> "Who?"
> 
> ~~Sammy, close your eyes~~
> 
> AU, the ending of season 10 no one wanted to have happen but we all secretly thought about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll, I had written at least 6 pages worth of content for your final chapter that night. I was so proud but fell asleep before I could post it. Next day (after sleeping for like 18 hours) I re-read everything and it was total gibberish.... I don't know where the disconnect from my mind to my hands went but NONE of it was usable. Sadly with a re-write I completely lost where I originally intended to end this. As such I may turn this into a series with a sequel. I'm not happy with the ending I've given you but it's a start. I hope it's satisfactory, happy reading ya'll.
> 
> As always I do not own SPN or the characters, I just like to play with them.

* * *

Walking into the bunker with his memories intact was a new experience Dean knew he never wanted to have repeated. There was only one real resolution to tonight. He knew one way or another he was never walking out those doors without Sammy. Steps landing heavy on the walkway, he made his way down the spiral staircase taking the stairs two at a time. The lights flickered to life around him as he crossed the war room and rushed into the library. In his mind’s eye, Dean could see the ghostly image of Sam sitting at one of the long tables. His tall form hunched over a stack of books as he relentlessly searched for a way to save his brother from the Mark he bore on his arm. In the end after all the blood, sweat, and tears Sam shed for the cause—it was his life he had to lose to save his brother.

Dean angrily swiped away the trash from last night’s dinner onto the floor, clearing the table in a fit of rage as he set the spell ingredients down in a haphazard pile. He raced from shelf to shelf grabbing the rest of the ingredients he needed and the large ritual bowl—shit where was the bowl? Dean tore books from the shelves as he raced against the ticking clock he could feel in the recesses of his soul. He didn’t have time for this—

“Hello Squirrel, are you planning on redecorating? Or have you finally realized you’ve lost something?” The condescending British tone did nothing to dampen Dean’s temper as he whirled around to spy Crowley leaning against one of the bookshelves with a smug look on his face. A red haze threatened to overwhelm him as he stalked towards the king of demons.

“Where is he Crowley? I swear to god if you’ve harmed him in anyway—”

“Easy Squirrel, I come in peace, and without your plaid moose I’m afraid.” Crowley raised his hands in defense and gave him a sort of half smile as he stepped towards the long table between them, his eyes briefly glancing to catalog the mess in front of him. “I’ve come, out of the goodness of my blackened heart, to tell you that the moose is not in hell—nor apparently is he in heaven if my sources are to be believed.” Dean cut off his words and stopped to study the shorter man, searching for any tell of deceit.

“Are you trying to tell me he’s not dead?” Crowley scoffed at him and gave him a condescending look.

“Please Dean, we both know that whatever went down the last time you saw each other—only one of you survived. I’m just surprised it took you this long before you decided to do something about it, big brother not feeling the love like he used to?” His knuckles stung before the conscious thought to punch the demon’s frog face even crossed his mind. Crowley stumbled back away from the table and the ingredients holding his jaw.

“Bloody hell Squirrel, if you intend to treat me this way, I just might not do a deal with you after all!” Dean could feel his anger simmering just under the surface as he glared daggers into Crowley’s chest.

“And what makes you think I want to do a deal with you?” Again, with the smug look.

“You’re a Winchester and one of you is dead—it’s what you do.” The sound of the door clattering open and Cas’s shout barely broke Dean’s concentration as he stared down the demon in front of him. Taking three great strides Dean brushed his chest against Crowley’s pushing him against the bookcase.

“You’re right—it is what we do—we save each other because no one else is going to. But this time Crowley, I’ve got bigger fish to fry”.

“Dean! I’ve got the—why is he here?” Cas steps quickly to Dean’s side, angel blade already descended and ready to come to his friend’s defense. Dean just smiles coldly and grabs the bowl from behind Crowley’s head, taking slight joy in the small wince at the action.

“Nothing Cas, he was just leaving.” Dean turns away to set the bowl down and starts gathering the components, adding them into the bowl one by one. He barely acknowledges Cas as the angel stands behind Dean in silent support. Crowley straightens himself indignantly and eyes the bowl with suspicion.

“If you weren’t trying to summon me to make a deal, what pray tell, are you doing exactly?” Dean smirks as he holds out his hand to Cas, instantly he feels the cool and slightly gritty texture of glass and he tightens his grip, the fulgurite.

“Let’s just say I’m cutting out the middleman and going straight to the boss.” It barely takes a moment before Crowley pales noticeable and shakes his head in resignation.

“You’re crazy Squirrel, suicidal, and crazy.” Dean lights a match and stares into the bowl for a moment before breathing deeply.

“So I’ve been told, now excuse me while I save my brother.” The match is barely dropped before each of them feel the shift in the air and Dean takes a deep breath before addressing the pissed off deity now standing across the table from him.

“Dean Winchester—we really need to stop meeting like this.” Dean can feel Cas nearly vibrating in nervous energy next to him, his fingers flexing subconsciously around the hilt of his blade. Death tilts his head slightly and moves his gaze to stare down the angel. “And Castiel, I thought I told you to leave well enough alone?”

Dean cuts off Cas before he can speak with a shake of his head. “It was me; Cas didn’t do anything.” Death regards him with a cool eye and smiles slightly with a tilt of his head.

“Ah yes, Winchester tenacity strikes again. So what now Dean? You have all the pages to this story—you know the whole plot—what do you expect the outcome of this meeting to be?” Crowley shifts on his feet, eyes surveying the room and keeping unnaturally quiet at the drama unfolding around him. Dean ignores the others as he leans slowly forward, resting his hands on either side of the summoning bowl that’s still smoking lazily.

“I want my brother back. Give him back to me. Sammy didn’t deserve this, and you know it—please—” His voice almost cracks on the plea but Dean pushes back the swelling emotion roughly trying to keep his eyes dry and steady.

_‘Please give him back to me—‘._

Death stares at him a moment longer before glancing down at the wispy smoke of shackles around his wrists. The being raises his arms slightly before raising his gaze again, a steely glint as he stares down the man in front of him.

“For years, you Winchesters have defied the natural law of the world. Not always due to your hand, I grant you—and yet you were always the beneficiaries of other’s meddling. Know this Dean Winchester— once this is done, we, are done. No more second changes, no more karmic assistance. You and your brother will be subject to nature’s whim just like the rest of humanity.” Dean gives a short nod before grabbing another match, preparing to release the binding but hesitates for a moment.

“We never asked for any of this you know. We just play the cards we’re dealt. The hand was stacked against us, we just hand to find our own set of rules to play. You swear, I release you and you’ll bring back Sammy?” Death gives him an impatient stare and blinks slowly.

“On my honor”. Dean hesitates for just another moment, the feeling of Cas tensing just behind him a welcome comfort. He takes strength from the unwavering support of his stoic friend and before he can second guess himself, strikes the match and lets it fall to the bowl effectively ending the binding of Death.

_“It seems like our time is up here Sammy-boy. I do hope you look back on this time fondly.”_

“Where is he? You said you’d bring him back!”

_“Don’t forget to call, but really don’t—”_

“I swear to god if you squelch on our deal—”

_“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again real soon.”_

Death gives a vaguely condescending smile, his eyes unwavering against the force of Dean’s growing anger and fear before slowly tilting his head slowly to the side.

“Humans really are fascinating creatures, although you and your brother try my patience. It has been an honor to know you Dean and Sam Winchester.” The sound of a clap of thunder makes the others around him flinch and in that space of a blink he is gone. In his place stood 6’4” bewildered little brother. His eyes red-rimmed and searching chaotically around the room until they settled on Dean.

Dean watches as elation, anger, and fear flicker in his little brother’s eyes before they skirt past his gaze and land squarely on his arm. He swallows heavily and barely restrains himself from hiding his arm behind his back. Though the mark still feels settled, the sudden reminder of how they solved this little problem makes his chest burn with shame. Sam glances back at Dean’s face before he shuffles backwards slightly, a grimace sort of smile quickly flickers on his face before sliding away.

“D-Dean, good. I-I uh—“. He seems to struggle for a moment and Dean fights the urge to reach out and grab him into a tight hug. Years upon years living on top of each other, fighting, driving, sleeping—existing in same space for the majority of their lives made Dean rather fluent in Samisms. This right here was a classic cut and run shuffle.

“Sammy, Sammy wait—it’s me, it’s really me—“.

“Yes moose, stay awhile and talk”. Sam’s eyes quickly shift to Crowley and Dean mutters under is breath before glaring at the demon. Unfortunately that brief encounter was enough to spook his younger brother and before Dean can react Sam has bolted for the stairs shouting as he goes “Don’t follow me!”. The clanging echo of the slamming door hurts Dean’s ears and he stands for a moment completely dumbfounded before he feels Cas rush past time. Good—that’s good—Dean can feel his heart constricting as a swirling vortex of emotions threaten to overwhelm him. Happiness that his brother is back from wherever he was being stashed, shame that he was the reason his brother was there in the first place. Anger wars with sadness and it’s almost drowning him. His eyes search the empty space Sam had occupied mere minutes before he takes a deep breath and focuses the maelstrom of emotions down to one simple fact. Sam is back, and Crowley is a dead man.

“Crowley—you better get out of my sight. The next time I see you will be the last.”. For once the demon king leaves without saying a word leaving Dean standing on his own in the empty library. Vaguely he can hear Cas’s deep voice as it travels down from the outer stairwell along with the sound of two sets of echoing footsteps. Carefully Dean hides the ritual bowl before slowly sinking down into one of the hardbacked chairs. He feels old, old and tired. He takes another moment to breath deeply. He rolls his neck from side to side before standing again to retrieve his brother. The words from Death still slowly filtering through his mind as he let’s his big-brother mode subconsciously take over.

* * *

_‘No more second chances—'_


End file.
